When I first felt her move inside my swollen stomach, I was so scared. So terrified. Because here was something that could be taken away from meagain.
But now, in the blackness, Peeta is lying beside me smiling even in his sleep and my baby is asleep in her basket a few feet away, not even 24 hours old. As fresh as a raindrop.
My baby.
I refused to call her that for so long. I just couldn't, because Prim was my sister, Finnick was my friend, Peeta was my fiancé. And they all got taken away from me. Nothing that is mine is safe.
But this tiny person who is completely new and fresh and has no idea what the world holds, she is mine. A good kind of mine. The kind of mine that reminds me there is good in the world, and the potential for happiness.
I carefully extract myself from Peeta's arms. He must be in an deep sleep because he doesn't even stir. The grin plastered over his face even though he isn't concious makes me smile slightly. I imagine what he's dreaming about. That makes me smile again.
Carefully, with the eternal silence of a born hunter, I make my way over to the crib. My mother offered to send a brand new one over from the hospital but I don't really trust new things. Prim and my old crib was destroyed in the fire, but this one belonged to Finn, Annie's son. And there aren't many people I trust more than her.
I peek in it again, my heart beating quickly because there is still a part of me that doesn't believe she's real, that something this new and this perfect could be trusted to me after all that I've destroyed. But there she is, tiny and beautiful, breathing soundly, her hands clenched in minuscule fists. I'm still shocked at the huge rush of love that washes over me every time I lay eyes on her. She has dark hair like the few pictures I've seen of myself as a baby, but her eyes are a special kind of blue, dark and bright, like Peeta's. I'm so happy she has his eyes.
Something wells up inside of me as I stand in the darkness, something stronger and better than tears. For once, Peeta insisted on shutting the windows. In case she gets cold, he had said. But the curtains are still drawn back, casting soft moonlight on this tiny little human who has never heard of the Capitol and the Hunger Games and will never have to live in fear of them. This completely fresh soul who won't be haunted by ghosts, the way that I am. I want to protect her, to keep her safe, to make sure she always feels loved and secure. I haven't felt anything remotely like this since Prim.
Prim. Even the thought of her makes me clench my fists tightly to stop myself sobbing. Because of how much she would have loved this little baby. How good she would have been at taking care of her. And despite her head of dark hair, everything about my daughter reminds me of Prim. Her lovely face, her quiet spirit, the way I feel about her. It's strange, this mix of fierce joy and terrible sadness. It aches through me.
But then something magical happens, and the tiny baby in the crib handed down from the son of one of my dearest friends opens her brand new eyes. And the cry that I'm bracing myself for doesn't come. She blinks a few times, and her eyelashes are so small and yet I can see them, batting against her cheek each time. She looks at me as if she knows, knows that I need this moment between the two of us, without even her father, to remind me that bringing this baby into the world was a good thing.
Because Panem is a better place now. Finnick and Boggs and god knows how many others died making sure that happened. And my baby, my daughter, she will be one of the ones who benefit from this beautiful world we created. She will make the sacrifice worth it. I lift her tiny body out of the crib, marvelling at it's warmth, shocked that anything so small could feel so alive, and could make me feel so glad to be alive.
